


【ｄｏｎｕｔ　ｈｏｌｅ】

by demizorua



Category: Good Game (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, I genuinely don't know how to tag this, M/M, Songfic, rating is for canon-typical swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demizorua/pseuds/demizorua
Summary: the belt line wraps the globe,going 'round to chase the morning sunbut we don't need to run its rails:we follow our desire, and chase the nightInspired by the cover ofDonut HolebyMioDioDaVinci.
Relationships: Ryland Tate/Alex Taylor (Good Game), Ryland/Alex Taylor (Good Game)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	【ｄｏｎｕｔ　ｈｏｌｅ】

_"You in or you out, Ryland?"_

* * *

When Ryland opened his eyes, all he saw was the grey, peeling plaster of his apartment ceiling, stains of unknown origin decorating the surface. Throwing an arm over his eyes, Ryland tiredly swatted at the cardboard box he’d set next to the bed, his phone chiming obnoxiously from the surface.

Finally sitting up, Ryland let out an exhausted groan as he stretched his arms over his head, wincing at the loud cracking sound from his back. Swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, Ryland yawned as he shut off his alarm and made his way to the dingy bathroom attached to his apartment.

As Ryland lazily got ready for work, his weary mind strayed to the somewhat concerning dream he'd had the prior night. Ryland didn't usually remember his dreams, and even this most recent one was foggy at best. Even still, what little Ryland could recall was far from what he'd call normal.

The parts which Ryland could remember felt much too real, much too _vivid_ to just be a dream. Ryland had felt every little sensation in explicit detail, with a startling amount of clarity for what could only be a creation of his subconscious since, despite the memory-like quality of the scenes, Ryland was certain that he'd never experienced anything even remotely like what he'd seen.

Splashing the lukewarm tap water in his face, Ryland stared blankly at his reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror. Even now, small snapshots from the larger scene stood out clearly in his mind, looping endlessly behind his eyes.

Ryland shook his head, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyelids, forcing the lingering worry from his mind. Regardless of whatever these phantom memories were, Ryland couldn't afford to sit around and worry about them all day. Grabbing his house keys and ID, Ryland hurried out the door, jogging so he wouldn't miss his bus.

It was probably nothing, anyway.

* * *

"Have a good day, and thank you for shopping at FoodMart."

Ryland leaned forward against the checkout counter, sighing tiredly. The store wasn't all that busy today, for which he was grateful since it allowed him time to think.

It had been a few days since Ryland first started noticing these fragmented memories he couldn’t quite place, and Ryland was no closer to figuring out where they could possibly be from. He’d been having more and more dreams each night, each one clearer and more vivid than the last, but in spite of that Ryland still couldn’t draw the connection he knew had to be there.

The same voice from the first dream had consistently appeared in each of his subsequent ones, attached to the same lanky figure framed by a strangely familiar halo of untamed curls and rebellious flyaways; but Ryland still couldn’t recall the details of the sound. He felt a strange connection to the mysterious stranger, somehow knowing that this wasn’t just some recurring nightmare as a product of his disordered sleep schedule. Ryland feels like he _knows_ the person, really knows them, almost better than he knows himself.

Is that weird?

That's probably weird.

Ryland was torn out of his thoughts by an impatient series of coughs, an entitled looking woman glaring at him from across the register. Plastering a complacent smile on his face, Ryland muttered a half-hearted apology as he began scanning the lady’s items. He quickly dropped into a trance-like state as he robotically scanned and bagged the groceries, easily ignoring the customer’s judgemental stare.

_"Yeah, three jars of peanut butter, man."_

Freezing, Ryland’s head snapped up, the voice cutting through ambient grocery store chatter and striking a chord somewhere in Ryland’s psyche. Ryland had never heard this voice before, he’s _sure_ of it, but it still sounded so… _familiar_. He couldn’t place it no matter how hard he tried, but Ryland still couldn’t bring himself to dismiss it out of hand.

Scanning his periphery, Ryland just barely managed to catch a glimpse of a wild head of hair at a nearby checkout lane before his attention was diverted once again by a frustrated huffing sound.

"Sorry, ma’am." Ryland resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the prissy woman, biting his tongue as he quickly returned to checking her out. He hurriedly bagged her items, offering a strained smile as he handed her the receipt. The customer turned on her heel with a scoff, tugging her toddler after her as she marched towards the exit.

Disregarding the stuck-up woman’s retreat, Ryland turned back to where he had seen the familiar stranger, only to find that the other checkout lane was now empty, the stranger having vanished.

Ryland sighed, rubbing his face tiredly as he turned back to his register. He was quickly swept back up in the chaos of the workday, the brief glimpse of a familiar stranger fading to the back of his mind as customers came rushing in.

While the tidal wave of stress kept Ryland distracted from his mounting curiosity and confusion, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that these strange memories were more important than he’d initially thought.

* * *

Ryland forced himself to swallow another gulp of the cheap energy drink he’d bought, shuddering at the disgustingly saccharine liquid’s artificial flavor. Resting his head in his free hand, Ryland sighed heavily, allowing his eyes to slip shut out of sheer exhaustion.

The ambient hum of the air conditioner and other various machinery filled the industrial-refrigerator-turned-break-room, the hard plastic of the shoddy chairs and table already making Ryland’s joints sore. The cold air and noise of the break room kept him… well, not _alert,_ per se, but it kept Ryland from drifting off to any comfortable state of mind. Even though he couldn’t really rest, Ryland still reveled in the short respite his break allowed him, letting his tired, dried out eyes rest for once.

Ryland hadn’t managed to get a good night’s sleep in a few days; insomnia and various sources of stress kept him from ever fully relaxing. The best he’d managed was extremely brief periods of unconsciousness, no more than a few minutes in length. The micro-naps were barely enough to keep him going even when paired with exorbitant amounts of caffeine, and Ryland was sure he could only go a few more weeks of this before he completely collapsed.

A low hum rose in the back of Ryland’s throat as he took another sip from his energy drink. While he was no stranger to extended periods of insomnia, there was one thing about this time that made him wonder. Despite not sleeping hardly at all, Ryland had still noticed new snapshots, brief moments in time that were much too vivid for how implausible they seemed.

He’s fairly sure he hadn’t been dreaming all that much. He hadn’t been sleeping enough to dream _at all,_ to be completely honest. And yet he's gotten these new memories that he _knows_ he didn’t make.

Ryland still hadn’t told anyone about what was happening. In all honesty, he still wasn’t fully convinced that he wasn’t just going crazy from sleep deprivation.

I mean, memories that he doesn’t remember making? Weirdly familiar strangers? Ryland didn’t even believe _himself_ when he laid it all out like that!

"Ryland?" Cracking one eye open, Ryland looked over at the break room doorway, resisting the urge to sigh as his manager poked his head through. "Your break is over."

"Thanks, Lorenzo." Closing his eyes again, Ryland quickly downed the remainder of his energy drink, stretching in a poor attempt to alleviate some of his lingering stiffness.

As he left the walk-in refrigerator, nodding at Lorenzo in acknowledgment, Ryland forced himself back into his customer-service mindset, once again disregarding his personal distress. Lorenzo had done more than remind Ryland of the status of his lunch break; he had inadvertently brought him back into reality.

Ryland couldn’t _afford_ to waste his time chasing stupid fantasies.

Especially fantasies as stupid as this.

* * *

He’s on the bus the next time he thinks about it.

Ryland was staring idly out the window, watching the evening streets pass by when he saw something that made him pause. Normally he wouldn’t think twice about the country club as the bus drove past, never having a reason to care. This time, though, Ryland found himself struck with a strange feeling of déjà vu as they passed.

Ryland has never been in any type of country club or anything like that, he _knows_ that he’s never been anywhere _near_ one! And yet he felt a weird sense of recognition bubble up in his chest at the endless rows of tennis courts.

_"Did you say tennis?"_

_"Yeah, they like it."_

Ryland blinked, the sudden memory throwing him for a loop. It was so strange… he could recount this person in such vivid detail, but at the same time _couldn’t remember them._ He can hear their voice, feel their touch, see their smile _so clearly_ in his head, but he _doesn’t know them!_

But he does, oh god he does, he feels like he’s known them forever, known them longer than a thousand lifetimes. Ryland feels like this person is a part of him, like they help keep him whole. He’s never met them, he’s never been without them, and it all feels familiar, _so goddamn familiar._

Still, no matter how familiar it feels, no matter how much Ryland recognizes this person, he can’t remember them. He can’t remember their name. He feels like he knows them so well, knows them better than he’s ever known anyone else, but he doesn’t know their name, _what is their name?_

Ryland was so lost in thought that he almost missed his stop.

* * *

_He feels like he's floating, almost as if he isn't connected to his body. He can see his hand moving when he moves it, can feel his body, just the same as it always was, but it feels different. It almost feels like he's moving through water, his movements slow and sluggish and decidedly not his own._

_Where is he? He was on a stage, lights flashing and people shouting, the sounds too loud and the lights too bright and everything much too much. It's so overwhelming… but he isn't upset. Despite the light and the sound, he can tell that he's happy._

_Why? Why is he so happy? The emotion sits heavily in his chest, raw excitement sticking in his throat like molasses. He watches as he turns around, slowly, and he feels a smile spread across his face as he catches sight of a familiar face._

_He knows them. He knows them, knows they’re important. He watches as his vision swims, obscuring the finer details of the scene, but he doesn't feel even a smidge of concern. All he feels is relief, relief that it's all over. What, he didn’t know. He just knows that finally, at long last, it's over._

_The minutes fly by in a blur, a hazy blend of relief and adrenaline. He drifts lazily, fielding questions and responding to some with a half-hearted smile. The time continues to speed by until it all comes to a screeching halt, jarring and relieving all at once._

_"We did it!" He turns slowly, so slowly, and when he finally does he finds them waiting for him. "You did it!" Their smile is so pure, so happy, and he feels himself smile too. How could he not? They move closer to him, and he watches as his hand joins with theirs, gentle smiles and soft hands mirrored and one._

_He watches as he opens his mouth, as he starts to speak, to say something. He knows what’s coming, knows it in his heart, he’s always known, he has. He feels his mouth form the syllables, it’s on the tip of his tongue, and he —_

He wakes up.

It took a while for Ryland to get his bearings. He slowly took in his surroundings; the cheap, uncomfortable couch beneath his body, the gross takeout containers scattered on the various nearby surfaces, and the dingy darkness of his apartment. He took it all in, and he felt frustration start to build in his chest as he regained awareness. He was so close, so _close-!!_

Ryland laid his head back with a sigh, deliberately ignoring the mountain of filth in front of him. He could only hope that he can get a few more hours of sleep before his shift.

* * *

"I dunno, Ryland. You sure you aren't just sleep-deprived?"

Ryland shrugged, humming noncommittally as he waited by the bus stop pole. Sam gave him a teasing grin, chuckling to herself as she rolled her eyes.

"It sounds ridiculous, you have to admit," she said, pulling out her phone to check the bus schedule. Ryland scoffed amusedly, both in response to her teasing and her habitually obsessive nature.

The day shift was definitely not Ryland's favorite time to work, but at least he didn't have to close up shop before he could clock out. That, and his one work friend in Sam worked the shift with him, offering Ryland the bare minimum of social interaction, which was more than he could usually expect.

Ryland wasn't sure why he'd decided to tell Sam about the strange things he'd been noticing — maybe he just wanted some validation that he wasn't crazy. Of course, what he got was the exact opposite of that, but he still couldn't shake his suspicions.

The screeching brakes of the city bus acted as a backdrop for Ryland's internal dialogue. Sam began to chatter about her upcoming tennis competition as the two of them settled into the hard plastic seats, and Ryland tried his best to appear as supportive as he could muster. He truly did admire Sam's confidence, there was just something weird in the air that was distracting him. What, Ryland wasn't sure, but there was definitely _something._

Then he saw them.

He had been absently listening to Sam, nodding or chiming in every so often, when a striking head of curls grabbed his attention. They were looking away, talking to a girl with long dark hair and purple highlights, but something made Ryland certain that this was them. Something about the garish colors of their shirt, something about their slouched and lazy posture, something about the faint timbre of their voice, nearly inaudible beneath the ambiance of public transportation, made Ryland _certain_ that this was Them.

"Dude!" Ryland jumped slightly, head snapping towards Sam in surprise. He hadn’t realized that he’d been so lost in thought until Sam’s interruption and Ryland shook his head, hoping Sam wouldn’t dig deeper. "What were you staring at?" It was a naive and futile hope, honestly.

As Ryland fought to keep from looking back at Them, Sam squinted in the direction he’d been staring, her eyes quickly lighting up in what she probably _thought_ was understanding.

"Ohh, I _see_." _You probably don’t,_ Ryland thought, but he kept his mouth shut. "That guy over there, huh? He’s kinda cute," Sam teased, grinning at Ryland, "but honestly his friend is more my type. Guess the muppet look works for some people, though, right?"

"Shut it," Ryland grumbled, rolling his eyes dismissively, "that’s not fuckin’ it. I just…" He hesitated. Sam didn’t exactly _believe_ him when he told her about Them and the dreams. "I just know him from somewhere." Sam scoffed, staring at Ryland in disbelief.

"Ryland, you never go anywhere ever. I’m, like, your only friend. Where could you _possibly_ know him from?"

"I… I dunno, somewhere?" Ryland mumbled, having returned to gazing across the bus distantly. "Man, it — it doesn’t matter."

"Fuckin…" Ryland heard Sam mutter a frustrated curse under her breath, and his friend was wearing a mildly frustrated expression when he turned back to face her. "Alright, fine. Don’t tell me anything, I don’t care." Ryland raised an eyebrow at her, and Sam quickly adopted a fond-but-teasing smile.

"Well, if you won’t tell me where you know him from, you can at least tell me some other stuff," Sam said after a while, nudging Ryland with her elbow. "You’ve at least talked to him, right? What’s Mr. mystery-crush’s name?"

Ryland froze, gaze growing distant once more. _His name… shit, what the hell was his name?_ He knew he was being too quiet, that the pause was going on for too long, that he was being weird, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Sam’s question rattled around in his head, bouncing back and forth like a mocking pinball, endlessly tormenting him. _What is his NAME, dammit!?_

The screeching sound of the bus’ brakes dragged Ryland out of his spiral, however briefly. What did get his attention was the mystery person and his friend standing up, chatting casually as they moved towards the door. They were leaving, they were getting off the bus, going about their lives. Ryland hadn’t really expected anything different; why would he? No matter how much vague recognition and buried longing Ryland might feel, at the end of the day he was still just a stranger to them. …Right?

Time seemed to slow down as the person from his dreams got off the bus, and Ryland felt the strange, intangible tether that pulled him towards the other tighten. Something told him this was important, that he couldn’t let them walk away, that he can’t just _ignore this._ But what was he supposed to do? What _could_ he do?

The bus doors closed behind the two of them, and as Ryland saw the retreating silhouette drifting past his window he felt a spike of nerve build in his chest. Shit, _shit,_ he’s running out of _time!_

Time abruptly returned to normal as Ryland shot out of his seat, only further confusing Sam, who was probably talking to him, although he couldn’t hear her. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart as he stumbled to the front of the bus, blearily apologizing to the disgruntled driver as he shuffled out the door, leaving Sam to confusedly call after him with no explanation.

Almost falling down the final step, Ryland stumbled and whirled around towards the retreating figure that had been in his head for so long. Reaching out his hand, Ryland made to get their attention, to call out to them, instinct driving him. He had no idea what he was going to say, but the moment he opened his mouth, Ryland felt familiarity flood his being.

Ryland’s hand was extended, fingers splayed out, only one thought looping in his head, a single, familiar word in an endless, eternal chant. One that felt familiar, felt like _home,_ one that had been buried deep inside of him since the very beginning of existence. They turned to face Ryland, something getting their attention, despite Ryland’s stock silence, and Ryland felt an electric jolt of recognition surge through his veins. Wide, confused eyes stared back at Ryland, and it’s him, it’s _him, it’s the face in Ryland’s dreams, the man in his long-lost memories._ Ryland feels like he’s floating, feels like he’s falling, like he’s drowning and soaring all at once as the echoing name sits hot on his tongue, daring, threatening to spill forth from his lips, the word familiar and sweet in his mouth, recognition sparking in his soul. Ryland stood, staring deep into the other man’s eyes, searching desperately for a sign, for something, _anything, do you know me, do I know you?_ The eye of the hurricane spun inside of Ryland’s chest, eerily still despite the tempest raging outside, and he opened his mouth to let the name drilling a hole in his dreams flow forth, strong and unbidden.

_ＹＯＵＲ ＮＡＭＥ ＩＳ —_

**Author's Note:**

> what is this? who knows man! certainly not me!!  
> man, i've never like. i love the song donut hole but i've never really thought about the lyrics before but. now i did! and godDAMN this is a mishmash of feelings and words!
> 
> if you liked this (or didn't! either works) please drop a comment! i'd love to hear what you think!


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